


the praxis of a water bed (among others)

by skuls



Series: X Files Rewatch Series [23]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s07e05 Rush, Episode: s07e08 The Amazing Maleeni, Episode: s07e09 Signs and Wonders, F/M, Post-Episode: s07e06 The Goldberg Variation, Post-Episode: s07e07 Orison, disgusting fluff set on various beds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 07:24:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14232246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skuls/pseuds/skuls
Summary: Five of the first times Scully woke up in Mulder's bed.





	the praxis of a water bed (among others)

**Author's Note:**

> most directly connected to auld acquaintance, but it is not necessary to have read that to read this.

**i.**

She woke up with the winter sun falling warm across her face and Mulder’s arm wrapped tight around her stomach, and she smiled, adjusting the comforter so that it covered them both. Mulder was a ruthless covers-stealer. She'd learned that from the weekend he'd spent in her apartment after New Year's. 

She tried to remember how they'd gotten here and came up with the drive back from Pittsfield. Mulder had argued that his apartment was closer to the case, and Scully had argued that her apartment was closer to the office and they had a meeting with Chuck in the morning. And Mulder had raised his eyebrows at her suggestively and she'd made a face at him and he was kissing her against the car before she knew what was happening, and she tugged him back by his tie and muttered something about seeing him at home (since they had driven separately, of course), and the rest was history. It had been two and a half weeks since he'd slept over, and they hadn't talked about it since. And lying here, she couldn't remember why. 

Scully lay curled up on her side, enjoying the feeling of the January sun and Mulder’s hand heavy against her side, until she felt Mulder’s mouth against the back of her neck. She smiled, leaning back into him, and said, “Good morning.”

He kissed the back of her neck, said, “You stole all the covers, Scully.” 

She froze a little against him, turned so that they were nose to nose and replied sternly, “I distributed them  _ evenly,  _ Mulder.”

“Nope.” He kissed the side of her face. “They're covering more of you than me. My leg is cold.” 

“Oh, really.” She tipped her head back and he leaned down and kissed her. She didn't notice for a few seconds that he was pulling the covers back over to his side.

“Hey!” She snatched them back. He pulled them back over to his side, leaving most of her exposed to the cold. “Stop,” she said, giggling a little and tugging them out of his hands. 

“You started it.” He bumped his nose against hers as he leaned down to kiss her. 

She smiled, lifting one hand to cup the back of his head. Snatched the covers back when he wasn't paying attention. She giggled again as he gave her a wounded look and patted the side of his face sympathetically. “You'll be okay,” she said. “We have to go, anyway. We're meeting with Chuck first thing so we can get back to Pittsfield.”

He made a sound of disapproval as she rolled over in bed, smoothing her tousled hair. “We don't have to go right now, Scully,” he said, brushing his hand over her side. “We don't have to meet Chuck for another two hours.”

“Yes, but I need to go back to my place and change.” She shuddered as her bare feet hit the cold floor and wrapped her arms around her ribcage, shivering. 

Mulder looked up at her from under the rumpled comforter, pouting. “You could wear your suit from yesterday,” he suggested. 

“Nice try.” She opened the bathroom door and went hunting for his hair brush. “I'll meet you at the Bureau?”

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. “Why don't I drive you?” he said into her hair. 

She smiled, stopped when she saw her reflection in the mirror, and said in a very professional voice, “I hardly see the productivity in that, Mulder.”

“C’mon, Scully, I can be ready in twenty minutes.”

“How will you get back here?” 

“You can drop me off this evening,” he said, very reasonable. He hugged her tight. “Or we can have another… sleepover.” His chin resting on her shoulder, she could see him waggling his eyebrows in the mirror, and she smiled again. He kissed the side of her neck sloppily. “C’mon, Scully,” he said again. “We can take your car. It smells clean.” 

“There's a reason for that, Mulder.” She turned in his arms and kissed him briskly. “Twenty minutes,” she told him sternly. “Thirty at the most.”

“Understood.”

She let go of him, stepping back and smoothing the shirt she'd thrown on last night. “And we need to renegotiate the covers situation,” she said. 

“I dunno, Scully.” He made a face at her, tugging at her hand. “We can figure something out.”

 

**ii.**

They were nothing official, not yet, but they had certainly crossed a line. He'd spent several nights in her apartment—even weeknights, on occasion, because he had a couple of extra suits in his car and he always won arguments about whether to stay over, mostly because Scully didn't come up with very many good arguments in return and he was a very, very good kisser. Even though she'd never admit it. But for whatever the reason, she hadn't slept over at his place a lot. Possibly because her apartment really was closer. Possibly because her place was slightly cleaner. Whatever the reasons, she wasn't completely sure why, but she knew she wasn't doing it on purpose. She liked his place, the way his sheets always smelled nicer than the leather of his couch (because, she suspected, he ate and slept on it when she didn't stay over) and the burbling of his fish tank in the background.

After their returning flight from Chicago, she was exhausted, nearly asleep with her head against his chest. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and whispered in her ear that he'd drive her home. “Your place is closer,” she said softly while they were waiting for their luggage. And that was the end of that. 

When she woke up the next morning, she was alone, flat on her back in the middle of the mattress. She had a tendency to gravitate towards the center of the mattress after years of sleeping alone, and it wasn't a habit that Mulder minded all that much, but she was surprised to find herself alone. At first, she thought he'd run out before she woke up, but the mattress rippling like the ocean underneath her as she flipped on her side reminded her where she was. So where the hell was he?

“Mulder?” she called, propping herself up on her elbow. The bathroom door was propped half open, lights off in the bathroom. No sounds of anyone moving around in the apartment. She sat up in bed, the comforter falling in her lap, and shook hair out of her face. “Mulder?” she called out again, experimentally. There was no answer. 

Scully sighed and started to climb out of bed when she heard the bottom of the door scraping the floorboards. “Mulder?” she called out again. 

“Oh, hey, Scully. Did you get my note?” 

She shifted in bed and saw the folded-up piece of paper on his bedside table.”Just saw it,” she called back. 

Mulder entered the room with a white paper bag in hand. “Hey,” he said, kissing her on the forehead as he sat beside her on the bed. “I couldn't sleep, so I took a cab over to the airport and picked up your car. I got you breakfast, too, from that place you like…” He passed her the bag. 

“You couldn't sleep?” she asked, opening the bag to find two bagels sitting at the bottom. She picked one out of the bag and reached out to touch his arm where his sleeve had rolled up to expose the bandaged wound on his arm. “Were you in pain?”

“Nah, I'm fine.” He took the other bagel and took a bite without breaking it in half or spreading anything on it. “Unexplainable luck keeps me awake.”

Scully took the napkins and spread them like a placemat on top of the bedspread. “So we're still calling it unexplainable luck?” she said mildly, opening the small container of cream cheese.

“You said it yourself, Scully,” he said around his bagel. “Everything happens for a reason, right? So everything that happened to Henry Weems happened for a reason, all so Richie could have a donor.”

“Everything, Mulder? Including the plane crash that assumedly gave him the so-called luck in the first place?” she asked before taking a bite of her breakfast. 

“Fate, destiny… aren't these the things that make up the very fabric of our universe?” he asked, sitting back on the bed next to her. 

Scully hummed low in her throat, scooting close to him so that their shoulders were pressed together. “Well, however you want to spin it, Mulder, Henry Weems and the Lupones are okay, and I think that's the best option we could have hoped for.”

He hummed in response, setting his half-eaten bagel on the bedside table. “That is true,” he said. “But you can't deny that there was a certain amount of…” 

“Dumb luck, coincidences, whatever you want to call it, Mulder.” She took a bite of the bagel. “It is Saturday. We are off duty. Let's enjoy it.”

“Mmm.” He let his head drop on her shoulder. She held her bagel in one hand and put the other arm around him. They sat in silence for a moment as Scully ate her breakfast.

“You know there are other instances of odd strings of luck, Scully. In the 1960’s…” 

“Mulder, hush,” she said, not unkindly. “ _ Saturday _ .”

He hushed. 

 

**iii.**

She didn't scream herself awake when she had a nightmare. It wasn't quite that dramatic. She woke up in a cold sweat, shaking, clawing at the covers. She could still hear the ringing of the gunshots in her ear, still feel Pfaster’s hands on her neck, her wrists, her hair. She wiped tears away, huddling under the covers. Mulder had brought her several extra blankets, but she still wasn't warm. She ached all over, still covered in bruises. 

Mulder had left her alone in here. It was probably a habit from the few times she'd slept over after trauma: after Padgett, for example. She distanced herself when she was frightened, pushed people away. She'd done it with Mulder ever since the first time with Pfaster, when she'd clung to him and cried all over him in the direct aftermath. She hadn't known if space was what she wanted, when she went to bed, but it had sounded like a good idea at the time. Mulder’s eyes had been soft when he got her settled, touching her too gently and sparingly. He'd kissed her softly on the forehead and told her he'd be outside if she needed him, and she'd thought it was a good idea. 

Scully rolled onto her stomach. She couldn't lie on her back because of where Pfaster had slammed her into the mirror, but she winced when she put weight on her stomach, probably from crawling through all that glass. She'd been tense all night; she'd jumped a mile when Mulder had touched her on the shoulder. She was sore all over. Tears dripped off of her nose, and she sniffled. She'd managed to keep it together; as soon as she'd heard the sirens approaching, she'd let go of Mulder, wiped her nose and composed herself. Avoided looking at Pfaster’s body and took deep, long breaths until she felt calm again. She'd held it together until now, and now was when she fell apart. It was too dark in the room, and she wasn't afraid of the dark as a child, but Mulder’s dark closet gaped open and she couldn't stop looking at it, like Pfaster was going to jump out at her and grab her by the throat. Tears stuck her nose. She climbed out of bed, holding the Navajo blanket she'd stolen from the couch around her shoulders, switched on the lamp, and walked to the door. 

Mulder was lying on the couch, watching the TV with the volume low. He wasn't asleep. He sat straight up when Scully exited the bedroom, his eyes full of concern. “Scully?” he said carefully. “Are you okay?”

She held the blanket over her shoulders with one hand and let the other one hang uselessly by her side. Her mouth was still dry from the gag; she swallowed a few times until the words came. “Can you… can you come in here with me?” she rasped. 

His face softened even more. “Of course, Scully.” He got to his feet quickly, walked to her and wrapped his arms around her. She pressed her face into his chest and wrapped her free arm hard around him. Holding onto him made her feel more solid, grounded her. He rocked her back and forth, kissing the top of her head. He was trembling, like he was just as scared as she was. 

Scully gripped his shirt in her hand and tugged. “Come on,” she said softly, and he came. 

Inside the bedroom, he watched as she pushed the closet closed and made sure it wouldn't swing, stood beside the bed while she got settled. She crawled into the center and readjusted the Navajo blanket, and then looked up at him. He climbed in beside her, lying down facing her. He didn't reach for her yet. She scooted forward so that they were nose to nose and wrapped her arms around him tightly, pressing her face into his shoulder. He put his hand up to her hair, smoothing it awkwardly; she stiffened, and he put his hand back down. “I'm so sorry, Scully,” he said softly. 

“It wasn't your fault,” she said sternly, because she didn't want to play this game tonight. He had been an asshole this case, and it was because he was scared or defensive or her or something, but she didn't care about that. She just wanted him to hold her until she fell back asleep. 

“I should've been with you,” said Mulder, his voice trembling like he was about to cry. “I should never have left you…”

“You don't know what would have happened if you had gone home with me,” she mumbles into his shirt. “He might've killed you to get you out of the way before either of us knew he was there.” She gripped handfuls of his shirt in a panic at the thought. 

“I should've brought you back with me,” he said. “I should've done a better job of protecting you, Scully, you're my…” His voice trailed off, as if he didn't quite know what she was. “I'm sorry, Scully,” he said instead.

She didn't say it was okay. She wrapped her arms tighter around his chest and burrowed into him. He kissed her forehead. A tear hit the top of her head and trailed down through her hair. “He would've killed me,” she whispered. “But I killed him first.” Tears dripped off of her chin, and she was shaking again. 

He held her gently, and for that she was grateful, since she still hurt all over. But she could feel him all around her; for the first time all night, she felt almost relaxed. “You're safe, Scully,” he whispered. “I've got you.” And for once, she believed him.

She fell back asleep in the center of Mulder’s bed, tangled up in his arms. 

 

**iv.**

She'd been staying with him since Pfaster. 

It wasn't necessarily a planned thing; she just kept not going home. She'd taken up residence in his bed, and he hadn't argued at all. Slowly, the nightmares stopped. Slowly, she began to shake off the tension and the jumpiness. It was still hard to enter the bathroom, but she worked on it. She stood in the bathroom, balling her hands into fists and stepping closer to the shower. Mulder showered with her, on occasion, and that helped. 

They spent the second week since cleaning her apartment in the evening. She wanted it to be hers again, she wanted it to be comfortable again, so she took it back piece by piece. Cleaned up her bedroom and her living room, dropped the candles in a garbage bag. Mulder swept up glass, carried her mirror out to the curb. She stiffened a bit when she reentered her bedroom for the first time, but forced herself forward. She opened her closet so it was clear it was empty. She sat in her bathroom with her back against the wall and watched her bathtub like it was a dangerous, live thing. Mulder came and sat beside her, taking her hand in his. “I'm going to be okay,” she told him sternly, but she still went home with him at the end of the night. 

At the end of the second week, Mulder offered her a case. “Headless magician in Los Angeles,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist. 

“ _ Headless  _ magician?” She leaned hard into him, her back against his chest. He covered her knee with his hand and rubbing it with his thumb. “I'm assuming someone removed it?”

“That's the question, isn't it?” he said into her hair. 

“Mulder,” she said disapprovingly, jabbing him in the side. 

“Okay, okay. His head was found decapitated after he performed a trick wherein he turned his head all the way around.”

She cocked an eyebrow before remembering that he couldn't see her. She said instead, “Like an owl?”

“Exactly, except owls’ heads don't usually fall off.” 

She didn't say anything at first, considering. “Scully?” He kissed the back of her head, rubbing her side through the layer of one of his t-shirts. “We don't have to go,” he said. “If it's too soon.”

“No,” she said, turning around to face him, crouching on her knees in front of him. “No, that's not what I was thinking at all. It sounds like it's worth looking into.” 

He blinked in surprise. “Really? You don't think it's a waste of time?”

“I didn't say that,” she said, wrapping a hand around the hem of his shirt. “But it sounds worth looking into. Sounds like an X-File.”

Mulder raised his eyebrows. “I have other cases if you want to…”

She leaned down and kissed him firmly. “Mulder,” she said. “Let's go to LA.”

\---

They got two rooms at the hotel. Bureau policy. “Remember,” Mulder said in her ear as they were waiting their turn at the front desk, “the Bureau has a policy against male and female agents consorting in the same hotel room,” and she'd said, “Throwing my own words back at me, huh,” thinking of Florida a couple of years ago, and he'd pretended to not know what she was talking about, so she'd gotten two hotel rooms. But she was starting to regret it. Even if they'd had separate rooms in Chicago, they hadn't had a separate room in over two weeks. It felt strange. The room was too quiet, even after Scully turned on the TV. 

A call from the LAPD came, with information that she'd need to deliver right away. An excuse. She smiled to herself with satisfaction and got off of the bed.

“Hey,” Mulder said when she opened the connecting doors between their rooms. “What's up, Scully? What do you think of the idea that Maleeni could've been a zombie?”

“I think you've gone off your rocker.” She climbed onto the bed next to him, sitting against his shoulder. 

“Then how did Maleeni perform yesterday when he's been dead for a month?” Mulder challenged. 

“Sorry to disappoint your Halloweenish theories, Mulder, but Maleeni has a brother. A twin brother named Albert Pinchbeck.” She grabbed the extra pillow and propped it up against the headboard before leaning against them. “I'd say that explains how someone that looked like Maleeni could have performed yesterday. I think we should pay him a visit tomorrow.”

“Hmm.” Mulder nodded thoughtfully, scooping up the manilla folder at the end of the bed and flipping it open. “Solid explanation, Scully, although I like the zombie theory better.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” she said. “Although I'll remind you that you saw zombies in December. Did any of them seem capable of performing a magic show?”

He grinned, pleased, setting the folder down on his lap. “I thought they weren't zombies.”

She made a face at him. “Mulder, I meant  _ your  _ idea of a zombie…”

“Sure, Scully.” He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her under her jaw, the folder spilling face down onto the bed. She swatted at him, giggling a little. “You know they were real,” he said into her ears. 

“I knew no such thing.” She sat up, his arms falling from around her, and smoothed her blouse, very professionally. “But I think we can both agree that Maleeni is not a zombie.”

“You never know,” Mulder said in a spooky voice. Or what was supposed to be a spooky voice. “We'll see if he's still in the morgue tomorrow.” He tickled her side in a way that was probably also supposed to be creepy. 

“Hmm,” said Scully. “We'll see when we talk to Pinchbeck tomorrow.” 

“Hmm.” Mulder raised his eyebrows at her. “Don't you know that this is against Bureau policy, Scully?” 

“Shut up, Mulder,” she said. “We're working.”

\---

When she woke up, she found that Mulder had covered her with the blanket and that he was lying beside her, his hand against her wrist. She smiled, kissed the top of his head and rolled over to catch a few more hours before they had to get up. 

 

**v.**

Mulder was bitten by snakes in Tennessee in an attempt to prove his righteousness. Scully was filled with a certain fury when she found him bloody and sweaty on the ground. He groaned, his eyes shut as she crouched beside him. She pushed hair off of his face, unbuttoned his shirt to find the source of the bites. Enoch O’Connor wouldn't call 9-1-1, so she did it herself, holding his hand and instructing him not to move. She remained calm because she didn't know what else to do. She wouldn't lose him to this, she told herself. This was treatable, it would be okay. She sat beside him, holding his head, and listened for the sounds of phantom hissing. 

She waited outside while the doctor gave Mulder the antivenin, her fingers tangled sweatily in her lap. When the doctor came out and told her that it looked like he was going to pull through, she breathed a sigh of relief.  _ Thank God, _ she wanted to say. She said instead, “I want to see him.”

“Go on back,” the doctor said. 

He was asleep when she went back, his face flushed and warm. She took his hand again and sat down beside the bed. She gave the nurses a sharp look when they came to try and convince her to leave. She wouldn't leave him. She left only to eat dinner, and she came directly back. 

He woke up sometime after ten, his hand stirring in hers. “Scully?” he mumbled, tugging her hand. 

“Hey.” She squeezed his fingers. “How are you feeling?”

He smacked his lips together, blinking slowly. “Numb,” he said sleepily.

“Well, you're going to be okay,” she said. “They're still giving you antivenin, but you're stable.”

“Mmm.” His eyes slipped shut again. “What time is’t?” 

“10:00.”

“You should sleep. Go back to the hotel,” he mumbled groggily.

“Don't worry about me, Mulder. I'm fine.”

“Mmm.” He scooted over in bed, the wires shifting dangerously. “C’mere.”

She blinked. “What?”

“C’mere.” He tugged at her hand. 

“You can't be serious,” she said. 

“Uh-huh. C’mere.”

“Mulder, you need to rest.”

“Need you.” He tugged at her hand again. “C’mere, Scully.”

She came, cautiously, trying not to disturb any tubes or wires. She sat cautiously against the pillows, shifting in an attempt to make herself comfortable, and Mulder snuggled up to her, his head against her chest. “Hurts,” he mumbled. “Hurts like a motherfucker.”

“I know.” She stroked his hair. “It'll be fine.” She could see where the wounds were swollen, and a rush of sympathy came through her. 

The nurses came back later to draw blood again, and gave Scully a disapproving look. She would've moved but Mulder, who was fading in and out of sleep, refused to let go of her. She offered the nurses apologetic looks. The more irritable one walked off in a huff, but the other patted Scully's hand sympathetically and said, “I don't think you're interfering with much, being up there. Just try to stay still and not touch anything.” Scully muttered a quick thank you, and turned her attention back to Mulder. He was whimpering a little in his sleep, probably from the pain. She took his hand again, the one with no bites, and held it gently. 

She dozed off sometime after midnight, with Mulder’s heavy weight against her and woke up hours later when they drew blood again. Mulder was awake, too, and was looking up at her with dark eyes. “Scully,” he said, completely serious, as the nurses departed. “Do you remember my bug phobia?”

“Yes,” she said, yawning. 

“Well, I think I'd like to switch to snakes. They are definitely worse,” he told her, putting his cheek down against her breastbone. 

“Mulder, you need rest,” she said. “I should get up. Are you in pain? Want me to get the nurse?”

“Yes, I am in pain, and no, I don't want you to get up. Screw those medical policies,” he said darkly. 

If the hospital decided to report them and this got back to Skinner, there would be a lot of explaining to do. “Mulder, they know what they're doing.”

“So do you, you're a doctor. Hey, Scully?” He put his hand on the side of her face. 

She checked to make sure all medical equipment was still attached, cursed herself for knowing nothing about snake bites, and felt his forehead. “Yes, Mulder?” 

“I like you,” he said, touching his thumb to the tip of her nose. “I like you a lot.”

He tended to get sappy in hospital beds, yes, but considering the last couple months, Scully couldn't help but be touched. “I like you too, Mulder,” she said, ignoring the burning feeling of tears at the back of her eyes. She leaned down and kissed his temple. “Thank you for not dying on me,” she said quietly. 

“That's my job,” he said agreeably, and lay his head back down. “Scully, these snakebites really do hurt.” 

“I know.” She stroked his hair again. “I know.” 

They fell back asleep in the too-small hospital bed, Mulder breathing as if it took a lot of effort, and Scully holding him gently. 


End file.
